Duty
by The13thGirlWithoutASoul
Summary: Marius, whilst being harassed and confounded by the poor he lives with, is teased by Les Amis at his lack of experience with the fairer sex. Éponine has just been kicked out of her home for the last time. The two now have a proposition, no matter how uncomfortable it makes Marius. M/É, M/C. Third genre is romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Duty**

** Rating: T**

**Summary: Marius is teased by Les Amis at his lack of experience with the fairer sex and Éponine has just been kicked out of her home for the last time. The two now have a proposition, no matter how uncomfortable it makes Marius. M/É, M/C.**

**A/N: I am trying to make this fic and Marius and Èponine (as well as the other characters) as like Les Mis as possible. Marius will, therefore, begin his story-life as a (hopefully) lovable lout and Èponine will begin hers as a scarily practical but social grace lacking although slightly-more-attractive-then-usual street girl. It will be my job to work a romance out of the two who never had a chance. The story begins before and during the events of the book, as the rebellion is in June.**

**In Which Stone Streets are Chilled**

"Right, my girl!" Marius heard shouting through the thin walls of the tenement his desk and sighed. It was most annoying that Jondrette had no respect for his neighbors, or his own privacy. This was the third night this week that, when the older daughter came home, Jondrette had begun to shout.

The older girl, Èponine, came home a few nights a week at the unholy hour he was awake now. Marius knew this because this was almost dawn (it was too cold to sleep, in his room, so he worked through the long December nights instead) and he had seen her leaving with freshly painted red lips—whore's work, he supposed. It disgusted him slightly.

"I won't have any of this, girl!" Jondrette yelled. There was a slapping sound and Marius flinched. Did no one have any respect for people on the other floors or those who may be sleeping?  
It should now be mentioned, as the reader has probably guessed, that the Jondrettes were actually the Thenardiers under a different name; it can be assumed that inside the Thenardier apartment Èponine was receiving a beating. Marius had not come from a household where domestic violence such as this was common, as it often is in poorer areas, and he had lead a relatively sheltered existence when it came to violence of any kind. Thus it can also be assumed that Marius was mostly (completely) unaware of what was happening in the Thenardier apartments, which was as follows, or what to do about it.

Thenardier was raging like a storm. He would never smash a dish or break a chair, for it would waste money, but his rage was not quiet and terrible, either. Instead, it was loud and violent, and he hit the only thing he could be sure wouldn't break in an expensive manner: the nearest person.

This person happened to be his eldest daughter, a girl of no more then seventeen named Èponine Thenardier.

Now a brief profile of Èponine is presented: she had been a beautiful child but years of poverty had taken their toll. Her cheeks were hollow, her face gaunt, her chin sharp and her bones bird-like and hollow. She had the malnourished look of a child and her hair's color had dulled and tangled. Blood, scratches, and dirt streaked and smeared across her body, her old dress and thin wrap. The only thing she had been able to retain from her childhood were her eyes, which had the same sharp gray-blue color; but now patches of red marred the whites of her eyes. Most of her pretty, long, black eyelashes had fallen out of been ripped or burned away in accidents.  
The reason why he was hitting Èponine was exponentially clear to everyone who lived in the building, as Thenardier yelled for all to hear that Èponine had not brought in enough money and if she kept this up she would have to be whoring full time.

Marius silently pleaded for them to be quiet in his head. He had studies! 'If I do not complete this,' he thought, 'I will be unable to be on time for the meeting at the Cafe. If I am not on time, Enjolras will look on me as if I am uncaring of our ideals.' Marius disliked this idea. 'The others will turn to look at me. They will, perhaps, demand an explanation.' Marius's neck heated at the thought of the others turning to look at him. He disliked being the center of attention; too many things could go wrong. He could look like a fool, be discharged from his group of friends, even, and be alone in this confusing and often frightening place of poverty.

'And I shall have to give them one,' he thought, 'I can tell them that Jondrette in his apartments yells at his daughter until the sun rises and I was unable to complete my studies.' then, 'Oh! The poor daughter; as Enjolras talks about the wretched poor, here is one in front of me, in my midst.' Marius was very pleased with himself that he was living with the true poor. Despite this, it was bitterly cold, and he was wearing most of the clothing he possessed and blowing on his hands every so often to stop them from freezing.

Whilst in the Thenardier apartment, Monsieur hit Èponine with his chair; her mother loved her daughter enough to bit her cheek in pity, but was too afraid of Thenardier to warrant an intervention.

Then Èponine made the mistake of striking back at her father after a particularly good lash to the face, taking care not to damage her eyes, which her mother called her 'selling feature' and her father called 'the only unspoiled bit of your shitting face'. She jumped back immediately and put her hands over her head, but Thenardier hit her once more before shoving her out the open door, screaming curses into the hall. Before Èponine was able to stand, her father was screaming "And stay out, little bitch!" but a few moments later, her mother tossed out her coat and hat, waiting until her father had his back turned.

Èponine staggered to her feet before turning, grabbing the coat and hat but not putting them on; instead she ran past Marius's door and into the night. Or, now, at least, the morning.  
Marius spared a moment of pity for the girl before turning back to his studies. They, at least, would not wait.

* * *

The gamin did not stop running of several minutes, until her side began to ache. Then she looked both ways in the manner of one who is being hunted before allowing herself to lean against the wall of a building. She pulled the wrap tighter around her shoulders, but it was too thin to warm herself. Èponine thought of summer in terms of her childhood in M. sur M.; golden and hot and carefree. She could not seem to remember the last time she had felt warm enough; she wondered if anyone in the drafty building could.

Èponine bet that Marius Pontmercy could. She knew him only in passing but had rather come to fancy the sight of him; he did not look like the others she knew, who had grown up with poverty and understood why there would never be enough food for everyone, why things would never change. They had a hopeless look in their eyes.

'Not,' she thought to herself, almost warm from thinking of the boy in the rooms near her family's, 'like Monsieur Marius Pontmercy.' having interacted only with people of the street she rarely used the honorific she did then, and, having done so, felt very pleased and grand indeed, until she realized how very cold it was, and her lips, which where almost blue, twisted into a frown.

Now a brief profile of Marius Pontmercy will be presented: his time living at the tenement had done little to dim the light of youth in his eyes which even the youngest of street children lack. His face forever held a notion of perpetual confusion; though this made him appear thoughtful. He did not look skeletally thin from lack of food nor overly robust from fighting for his money, he did not stink of drink, or of more unlawful substances, and he did not take whores. (This was a very important point for the gamin-turned-woman of the town. Èponine took the slavery she was forced into very unhappily) therefore in the eyes of Èponine M. Marius Pontmercy was like the summer she would not receive; so different from the rest of the characters in her life.  
'But,' the thought came to her and made her give out a little sound of something the poverty-stricken equate to joy, 'I shan't have to participate in such acts again, for I do not live underneath the thumb of my father!'

Perhaps this would have brought her more happiness was she not practical enough to understand that now she had no money, no income of any sort other then working the streets. Nor did she have any sort of place to live and a few days on the streets would freeze her to death.

Èponine might have cried, but she had lived in Paris long enough to know it would not help her. This was an additional reason why she tried very hard not to reminisce on her childhood in M. sur M. in excess; she did not think that she would be able to cease dreaming, or crying, or both.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Marius Offers Repentance for His Disgust of Èponine With Grave But Unseen Consequences

Marius was on time for both his classes and the meeting, something he praised the heavens for. It was not often their leader was unlike a brother to him; only when Enjolras found Marius lacking in some way was he called to attention, making Marius take pains not to be found lacking in any sort of way lest he be pointed out in a way he dreaded.

Enjolras, having passed his two and twentieth birthday, was older then Marius, who was not yet eighteen, though the two looked almost the same age. Marius sat in on the meetings as a guest or sympathizer at the moment but it was clear Courfeyac wanted him to join them fully.

He was beginning to wonder if it would not be a better thought to skip going to meetings; after all, he had not officially joined; but if he left now, the others would look on him as a deserter, a snake. In all truth there was nothing to be done, and he was supportive of the cause of the Les Amis de l'ABC. Perhaps just as importantly to Marius the meetings gave him friends, something that he doubted he would have had otherwise. He felt cruel for saying so, but he was not sure he could converse with any of his neighbors or any other people in his daily life.

Marius hated to feel cruel. He was, by upbringing, a decent young man. He went to Church every week and he was very kind. However, he was also timid enough to warrant the need for a complete absence of confrontation

When he stepped out he was glad for his boots and his coat; there was a gamin who ran around the Cafe and more often then not, he was barefooted in the snow.

As he was rounding a corner he trod on a pile of clothes leaning against a building and it gave a yelp. In doing so he trod on Èponine.

She stood and then fell again, a little frosty from spending most of the day and night huddled to herself in the cold. All of the nonexistent color drained from her face at the sight of Marius, so that her blue veins stood out all over. "Monsieur Marius." she breathed, trying to sound feminine. Her voice was low and crude-sounding enough for her to lose several syllables in her words when she did and she cringed.

"God God, Mamselle-my apologies." Marius said, carefully extending her his hand and being thankful (though he reproached himself for it) for his gloves. Her colorless lips spread over her teeth, of which two were missing in the bottom, and she did not take the outstretched hand, instead pushing herself up with her hands slowly. Her chemise fell completely about her ankles, leaving her breasts exposed. Marius flushed the color of blood and refused to look as she tied it about her body with a bit of string. He could not quite remember her name.

"I have just been evicted, Monsieur Marius, from my home," she said, "because my father maintains that I eat too much and do not work enough. I will bring the letters he writes to the houses only when I am certain that the house is friendly; if it is not I will simply drop them in the river and say I had. Perhaps if I had sent them I would not be turned away. But I am not worried, Monsieur, for I do not mind the cold. I was only upset that I would not be able to see you again, Monsieur, for I like to look at your face very much. I thought about you, last night, when I was alone, and I became happy—" she stopped, aware of her odd rambling, and instead pretended that first it was a book that had caught her attention; the one he had borrowed from one of his classmates which was tucked under his arm.

"Another book!" she marveled, and without asking she drew it out; he paid her no heed for whenever they had had their few, difficult conversations it was usually Marius tolerating the gamine on whatever unsociable follies she committed. She picked it up, opened it, and immediately frowned deeply. It was one he had borrowed to help himself learn German; his friend Courfeyac had the idea that he could work as a translator if he learned German and English. It was written entirely in German. "What's this, eh? Can't read a word—how's this written?"

"It is in German..." Marius remembered her name, "Èponine." A grisette passed by them and chanced to glance at Marius, giving the nervous little laugh a female emits when she sees a handsome youth. Marius's face colored slightly and he turned as far away as he could. This was facing the gamine, who tried to smile at him again. He contemplating turning back but did not.

"Where are you staying in the cold, Èponine?" he inquired. 'Perhaps if I had noticed Jondrette and this poor spirit beside me sooner, she would not have been cast out,' he thought to himself and felt responsible for her poverty once more. He probably would have felt more so if he was not growing tired of the Jondrette girl, who made him uncomfortable in a different way then the other females he came into contact with; for he did not care about what she thought. He wished her away. 'yet I wonder if this could have been a blessing in disguise for this wretched creature?' he meant Eponine's going to the docks but did not permit himself to think the words.

"On the street," Èponine replied in the almost-falsetto tone with garbled good humor. "but do not worry about me, Monsieur," (he had not) "I am fine on the street; that I am." then, in a slightly more broken tone (though Marius had trouble distinguishing between her rough tones) "The police don't care 'bout me. Don't even notice, nobody does."

"Yes, I suppose," murmured Marius offhandedly, barely registering her words. This ignited something in the spirit-like waif, and she grabbed at his gloved hands with the bony force of death. Marius wondered if there was a polite way to twist away from her grasp but she held onto his hand, staring at him boldly. Her eyes held as much life as ever they did.

"But you notice me, Monsieur Marius! I have seen you before and every time you notice me, and I..." she trailed off, the words she needed to express herself not available in her vocabulary. There was the sound of a horse in the distance and she started, then let go of his hand, much to Marius' relief. He rebuked himself for the gladness he felt when the waif had let go of his hands. After all, was he really better then this poor creature?

To make amends he tapped her—albeit quickly—on the shoulder and she spun round again, the grotesque smile managing to work properly that time and light up her dull face. Rather the first time Marius had seen her smiling correctly he chanced to examine her face and saw that at one time she would have been enviable. 'It seems that beauty refuses to relinquish this poor soul.' he thought to himself, but the small, dying remnants of loveliness only served to make her ugliness worse and more stark.

Knowing he might regret it but at the same time knowing that he had to offer to make up for his previous and still-standing disgust, he said to her, "Come into my room and warm yourself."


End file.
